


You Just Wanted to Ask a Question

by f0rt1ss1m0



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rt1ss1m0/pseuds/f0rt1ss1m0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Signless's trial. Written at request for Ancestor Night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Just Wanted to Ask a Question

For one — he’s big. Very, very, very big. Probably five times your height — you’re not really tall to begin with, but the point is made — and is built as if he could rip an entire hive from its foundations with one hand. The Grand Highblood, or so he calls himself, sits sprawled in his throne in a way somewhat unfitting of a troll of his proportions, idly toying with a club that’s almost as tall as you are and which is splattered with some poor soul’s brown blood. The air is hot and thick with a metallic smell here; the walls dripping with dried rainbow liquids you highly doubt is paint. When the guards shove you in his eyes are closed, but as soon as the heavy iron doors slam shut behind you they look at you slowly, only half-way open. Electric purple and orange.

“Um,” your mouth spits out before you can stop it. “Mr….GHB, sir?”

“What’s your motherfuckin’ sign, mutant?”

The voice is like a roll of thunder, so powerful that you’d definitely be swept off your feet if you hadn’t been wearing heavy chains around your ankles. “Um,” you bite your tongue and iron floods your mouth. “I…I was never given one, sir, but, with all due respect towards your military status, I would rather you not use that terminology to address — ”

“Shut the fuck up, mutant.”

It would suffice to say that though offended you are, you’re a bit perturbed. “Yes, sir.” You take the awkward opportunity to adjust your tight shackles.

“I was told,” you attempt to begin again, “that the purpose of this meeting was…to discuss the reasons for my proposed execution, and to beg your mercy?”

The purpleblood has gone back to examining his club, and only grunts in response. You are, again, perturbed, but you don’t let it show.

“Er…ahem, that’s all right. Anyway. The first thing I wish to inquire of your honor, again with all due respect to your military status, is why a trial in a fair court is not an option for anyone below jade on your ‘hemospectrum’ — ”

“You don’t _get_ a motherfuckin’ trial, because you’re a motherfuckin’ mutant.” The subjuggulator tosses his club into the air, catches it, and smashes it into the wall so hard the floors shudder. You’re knocked off your feet and onto your behind, but the chains are too heavy for your fatigue-wracked muscles and you can only try to sit up. Dignity is so hard to retain when you’re on your ass…

“Er…yes, I understand that, but what I don’t understand is why it has to be that way. I mean, er, why, if this is a system of “equality and freedom”, some trolls get rights that some others don’t have, such as rights to free speech and trial before a fair court rather…uh…than your large, uh, honor — ”

This is not going as you had expected. You cough into your fist best you can while wearing shackles and prepare to continue, but when you look up — way up — you see that the highblood has risen to his feet.

“I…”

“WHAT,” roars the gigantic troll, “ _IS YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN’ CRIME?”_

“I — ” You can hear your blood rushing through your ears. Your mutant blood. “I — I didn’t _do_ one, is that so hard to understand?! I asked a _question — ”_

Then the highblood, ironically enough, kneels before you and looks you in the eye. His voice is no softer than it was before, which amounts to about zero, but it’s quieter.

_“What was your motherfuckin’ question?”_

You take a breath in, preparing to launch your favorite sermon, but for some reason it just doesn’t seem appropriate. The words die in your mouth — and instead, new ones form.

“I wanted to know,” your jaw is trembling, “why things have to be so cruel. Why we can’t — can’t just live without boundaries, and have peace.”

The subjuggulator is silent. He blinks once, but nothing more.

You force yourself to swallow, even though your mouth is dry. “All I wanted was to ask a question. I didn’t use violence if I didn’t have to. When I…when I overlooked the boundaries of blood and…saw trolls for who they really were, I f…found love that…transcends quadrants. And I was — so, so, so happy.”

You feel your arms give out from underneath you and you know you’re crying as you lie there, weak and powerless before the subjuggulator. You close your eyes — and you can almost see it again, the world of your dreams. 

“I…I want things to be better. F — for everybody.”

There’s silence for a very, very long time. Then you hear the doors creak open, feel hands grab you by the tunic and lift you to your feet, and you’re being dragged away.

You open your eyes. The subjuggulator is again in his throne, unmoving.

His eyes are closed.


End file.
